Quan Jingxing · Chat

The lighting in the private room is set low and soft, the dark gold wallpaper reflecting the fractured light of the crystal chandelier. Two men sit on the long sofa. Quan Jingxing is on the side near the window, his suit jacket draped over the armrest, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to mid-forearm. His right hand holds a slim black Marlboro, the mint bead in the filter having just been popped. Wisps of smoke drift lazily through his fingers. He is in no rush to smoke it, just letting it burn slowly. In front of him sits a glass of warm, plain water, untouched—he doesn't touch carbonated drinks, and he has no interest in red wine today. He Jinye sits in the single armchair across from him, sinking deep into the cushions, his long legs stretched out so far his feet almost touch the edge of the coffee table. His suit jacket was discarded long ago onto another chair, his black turtleneck clinging to the contours of his chest and abdomen. His left hand holds a small glass of baijiu, with just a splash left at the bottom. He swirls it, tilts his head back to down it, and then nudges his chin toward the door. Over the past two hours, seven waves of girls called over by He Jinye have already come and gone. All shapes and sizes, gentle, spicy, intellectual—every type you could think of. They were all worn down and driven away by He Jinye's "if you don't like them, pick one yourself" attitude and Quan Jingxing's "my presence here is already a favor" demeanor. Quan Jingxing takes a drag of his cigarette, turning his head to blow the smoke toward the empty space. A gentle, polite smile remains on his lips—the same smile he shows to everyone—as he says, "Jinye, that's enough. I have a video conference tonight." He Jinye thumps his glass down on the coffee table, his naturally rough, deep voice laced with alcohol and impatience. "Don't fucking give me that meeting bullshit. You have meetings three hundred days a year, and did any of them get you a wife? I gathered a dozen or twenty girls for you, and you didn't even spare them a glance. It makes me look bad." Quan Jingxing doesn't argue with him, gently tapping the ash into the ashtray. He replies, "How is it my concern if you look bad?" He Jinye is choked up by the remark for a second, but then laughs instead, shaking his head as he pours himself another glass of baijiu. "Fine, fine, fine, you're the boss. Just one last one, look at her and we'll go. I won't fucking meddle in your business ever again." Just as he finishes speaking, the waiter cracks the door of the private room open from the outside—the next batch has arrived. Quan Jingxing raises his eyelids, already prepared to dismiss them with his usual "not a good fit," but as his gaze sweeps past the rim of his glass toward the door, it halts. He Jinye was tilting his head to light his cigarette, the lighter's flame just reaching the tip. As his peripheral vision catches the scene at the door, his fingers freeze. The flame flickers for a moment, failing to light the cigarette. The light from the hallway outside cuts through the gap in the door. A young girl is passing by—just passing by. Her profile is outlined in a soft, hazy silhouette by the warm corridor lights. Her pace is neither fast nor slow, as if she is heading somewhere at the end of the hall. She doesn't look inside the room at all, completely unaware that she is being stared at by two pairs of eyes at the same time. Quan Jingxing's fingers hold a cigarette that has burned down to a long column of ash that he forgets to flick. He just watches that silhouette cross through the narrow view of the door gap, like a fish gliding across the water's surface, before disappearing past the doorframe a few seconds later. He Jinye snaps his lighter shut and tosses it onto the table. He turns to glance at Quan Jingxing, a smirk playing on his lips. His tone is still rough, but his voice is lowered, as if afraid of being overheard by anyone outside: "Hey, the one just now. Did you see her?" Quan Jingxing brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, the cool mint passing down his throat. He doesn't reply, but he doesn't tear his eyes away from the now-closed door either. He Jinye shifts his crossed legs and taps his fingers on the armrest of the sofa. "I knew it. It's not that your standards are too fucking high, it's just that the previous ones weren't your type. Alright, this one looks good to me too—wait here, I'll go find out whose family she belongs to." He makes a move to stand up. Quan Jingxing finally speaks, his voice as calm as ever, but half a tone softer than before. "Sit down, Jinye. Don't go." He Jinye tilts his head to look at him. "Huh? What do you mean?" Quan Jingxing snuffs out the cigarette in the ashtray, pressing and twisting the butt repeatedly with his thumb. He lowers his head, the slight curve of his lips still there, but his eyes grow darker. After a moment, he says, "Nothing. Just... forget it. Let's go, time for the meeting." He Jinye stares at him for a few seconds but doesn't press further. He grabs his jacket and drapes it over his shoulder, and the two of them walk out of the room one after the other. The hallway is already empty, and the silhouette is long gone. But as Quan Jingxing passes that door, his footsteps falter for a brief, slow moment. He doesn't look back, only loosening his tie slightly, wondering to himself: who exactly was that girl who just walked past.